


scopaesthesia

by sundaycat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Masturbation, Voyeurism, i guess one-sided elias/jon sort of, of the supernatural variety, takes place sometime during s1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaycat/pseuds/sundaycat
Summary: There’s something else, too. It starts low, so subtle it doesn’t even occur to him to try to shake it off, but it grows over the minutes into his awareness: that prickle at the back of his neck again, that feeling of being watched.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	scopaesthesia

Jon gets home and the first thing he does is collapse on his bed, still in his work clothes. He does this a lot lately. He feels sometimes like he hasn’t deserved this tiredness—it’s not like he’s out there doing manual labor, and his desk job isn’t even that high-stakes as desk jobs go. All he does is read a long parade of spooky nonsense events as retold by the unreliable, most of which probably didn’t even happen. There’s no justification for him to be as stressed as he is.

And yet he can’t wind down lately. He keeps thinking about work, or just feeling keyed up for no identifiable reason and finding his thoughts going to something he’s read about. Even when he tries consciously to relax and to put all of that kind of thing out of his mind when he comes home for the day, his memory wanders back to that place without his permission. His mind lingers there in a way that’s frustrating and impenetrable to the conscious part of him, like it’s a dog that’s caught a scent its owner can’t perceive.

Jon stares at the ceiling. If he can’t make it go away, maybe he can at least get a little hit of instant relaxation, something from a source baser than trying to think his way out of thinking too much. He just wants to turn his brain off. 

He unbuckles his belt and slips his hand down his pants. He’s just brushing at first, skating along, not trying to go anywhere in particular yet. He hasn’t totally set his purpose at this point. He could still change his mind and just carry the motion right into getting undressed for the shower.

He dawdles for another moment, then rubs a little at his soft cock. It takes a minute, but he feels himself start to respond. As his cock fills out under his hand, his movements become more deliberate. He runs his fingers over the head, the touch still light, and feels the swell of responding pleasure run up his spine.

Jon shifts his hips. He pauses to push his trousers down all the way along with his pants, then returns to his movement. He curls his hand fully around himself now, and with more room to work, he can get a nice, full stroke in. He drags out his motions, trailing firmly along the whole length of his cock now. The pleasant throb he gets in return blooms out, expands through more of him, deepening under the broader touch.

He falls into a rhythm and then purposely bumps himself out of it, lingering his strokes first at the base and then at the head, a little extra flutter of the fingertips across the soft, sensitive skin there. There’s a little bit of precome forming at his slit. Jon runs his thumb over it and rubs it down his length on the downstroke. A moan rises up in him, and he suppresses it into a barely-audible little _“mm”_ sound. He’s alone, and there’s no need to be quiet, but for some reason he always feels obligated to maintain some kind of decorum, even if it’s for nobody’s sake but his own.

Whenever he goes a while without getting off, he’s always a little surprised to rediscover the intensity of how it feels when he finally touches himself again, the way these sensations crest and roll unexpectedly when they’ve become less familiar. It feels good, and part of him is enjoying that, but part of him keeps wandering back to thinking about work. Jon tries to pull his thoughts away—this is exactly what he’s supposed to be trying to keep his mind _off_ of—but as soon as he manages to start to put it out of his mind and just focus on the moment, the simple feeling of it, the thoughts come leaking back in.

There’s something else, too. It starts low, so subtle it doesn’t even occur to him to try to shake it off, but it grows over the minutes into his awareness: that prickle at the back of his neck again, that feeling of being watched. Even when he tries to push all his thoughts away, think about nothing, it persists.

It builds so strong that Jon opens his eyes, even though he knows there’s no one else in his flat. He’s never felt it this sharply at home, only at the Archives. _Stop it,_ he tells himself, _stop thinking about it,_ but the feeling is harder to shake than any coherent thought is, without a convenient form to it that he can push away from himself. It makes him so aware of each heavy breath he takes, of how hot his face is, of his state of half-undress with his dick out and his dress shirt still on.

Jon rolls onto his side and draws his knees up towards his chest a bit. It makes him feel slightly less on display than being on his back. The feeling remains, maybe even grows stronger, but Jon closes his eyes again and resolutely refuses to turn his head to look around. He turns his attention back to his cock. He’s close now, he can feel it, all wound up at the root of him. He strokes faster, not just because it feels good, but now because he almost wants to just get it over with, just come already so he can be done with all of this. It feels undignified, suddenly, right there in the middle of it, all the sweating and grunting and fondling himself. 

Even with the layer of uncomfortable self-consciousness laid on top of it, his body’s lost in the flow of it now, and stopping would be much worse. He’s almost there. Just a little—he can almost feel it—just a little more. Jon bites his lip and flexes his toes, trying to drag it forth from inside himself. He brings his other hand up to where the inside of his thigh joins his groin and strokes there with one finger, a little motion to help draw him up towards the peak.

He finally finishes, somewhat dissatisfyingly. Even a bad orgasm is still an orgasm, though, and it still has some of the relief of release to it, and he’s able to lie there for a beautiful moment where he doesn’t think about anything at all.

Eventually the moment stretches on too long, and his head begins to clear enough that lying there half-naked with come on his hand is no longer acceptable, and Jon makes himself sit up and then head to the bathroom. As he washes his hands and strips his shirt off to get in the shower, he realizes that the feeling of being watched has gone away since he came.

Maybe that was all he needed. See? It was good for him. He can relax now.

**Author's Note:**

> (i googled “feeling of being watched word” to get a pretentious-sounding title for this and i couldn’t believe there weren’t already any other tma fics using the same title. y’all are slacking, smh)


End file.
